


Underneath the Lovely London Sky

by The_Flaming_Phoenix



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Mary Poppins (Movies)
Genre: Alex is grumpy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry Lin-Manuel Miranda, Short One Shot, Sort Of, do the 1930s count as modern?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24977545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Flaming_Phoenix/pseuds/The_Flaming_Phoenix
Summary: Two facesLooking through a windowThey look very alike-OR: Hamilton and Jack meet. Jack is delighted. Hamilton less so.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler (Mentioned)
Kudos: 42





	Underneath the Lovely London Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This does not at all obey any geographical or cultural laws.
> 
> I'm sorry.

Alexander Hamilton was not pleased.

Of course, this occurrence happened regularly, but today he was in a particularly bad mood.

America’s economy was in shambles after the Great War. Unemployment rate was high, poverty was rising, and opportunities for economic growth were lost.

And instead of doing something to try and _fix_ the situation, Washington decided Alexander needed to take a break. In _London._

Alex held a great amount of respect for the President, but on occasion he wondered how the country was still running.

He stepped off onto the docks and looked at the little town with distaste. He currently would have done anything to be in New York with Eliza and the kids, not standing here in a tiny British port town.

“Had a bad day, eh?” the innkeeper said, where Alex was booking a room tonight before heading to London.

He ignored him.

He also ignored the driver on the way to London, instead choosing to look through his papers, searching for anything useful. His wife and Washington were probably expecting him to stop working for a bit, but damn them. If he was going to be stuck here for a week, he was going to do something useful.

He’d had a room on the first floor booked for him in a hotel by Washington, and that was where he currently sat, rummaging through his documents. He took a momentary glance outside the window. Small street. Relatively quiet. He never really liked the quiet, being used to the busy streets of New York City, but he supposed he could work with this.

The room was relatively large. A wooden desk sat in front of the window, opposite the bed, and the adjacent wall held a bookshelf filled, as Alexander found out, with tourist books and magazines, above which was a clock. A door near the entrance led into the bathroom. In the middle of the room sat a coffee table and a sofa, which seemed like a slightly questionable taste in interior design. A rather uncomfortable-looking chair sat in the corner next to a potted plant. Unfortunately, aside from the chair and the sofa, the only places to sit in the room were the bed and a swivel chair, which Alex was not sitting in even if his life depended on it.

He kicked the swivel chair away from the desk and pulled up the _actual_ chair instead. He took a glance at the clock and realized it was apparently nine in the evening.

Not that it was easy to tell. London seemed to stay at one particular time of day and never seemed to change.

He spread his papers over the desk, then sat down at the desk himself, pen in hand. He pulled a report towards himself and frowned over the material written in it, the majority of which was bad news.

He was about to start writing a response when a sudden burst of song from outside made him jump and narrowly avoid splattering ink all over his papers. He looked out, scowling as he wiped ink off his pants, and realized the person who was singing was the damned _lamplighter_ , currently lighting the lamp that was nearest to the window and singing like nobody was listening.

_”Don’t believe the things you’ve read,”_ he sang – no, not sang, he was singing so loudly it was practically _screeching_ – _“You never know what’s up ahead/Underneath the lovely London sky!”_

Alexander wondered if he was joking.

However, it seemed that luck was not on his side, for the lamplighter happened to spot him at that moment.

The first thing Alexander was struck by was how much the lamplighter looked like a scruffier, British version of himself. It was as if someone took one look at him, made a few changes, and decided, _Yep, I’ve just made a new person!_

The lamplighter was cleanshaven, his cap secured firmly over his short, dark hair. He was maybe a few inches taller than Alexander himself, and his clothes were rather worn and dirty. This whole thought process went through Alexander’s head as the lamplighter gave him a cheerful grin and waved at him.

Alex snapped out of his trance and threw open the window.

“Do you always have to sing while working?” he demanded.

The lamplighter’s grin, if possible, grew even brighter.

“Are you new here?”

Alex had to wonder about this lamplighter if he asked a person if they were new when the person in question was _literally sitting in a hotel._

“Yes,” he huffed. “My work, however, is not. And I would highly appreciate some _silence_ while I write!”

The lamplighter’s face looked close to splitting in half with that huge grin on it. “Very sorry for disturbing you, sir!”

Alexander swore and shut the window. Outside, he could hear laughter and the sound of singing start up again as the lamplighter rode down the street.

He really wanted to get back to New York.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack is that one friend we all need to have but never do.


End file.
